


Halfway There

by ourgirlfriday



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, no one is good at feelings, no powers, offscreen Erik/Emma, stopping a wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourgirlfriday/pseuds/ourgirlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik was engaged, about to get married.  He shouldn’t be doing this.  But Charles had to <i>try</i>.  As long as there was hope, he would try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway There

**Author's Note:**

> Based of [this](http://synekdokee.tumblr.com/post/56522086677/blktauna-codenamecesare-miagrey-its) post on tumblr. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes.

He would be cutting it short, he knew, breath huffing as his feet played a steady beat on the pavement. The wedding was supposed to start any minute, and this might be the worst thing he’s ever done, trying to stop a wedding the day of, but dammit. He’d regret it forever if he let Erik go without a fight. 

How _hadn’t_ he known? How had he been friends – best friends, even – with the man for seven years without realizing he was in love? Raven was right; he _was_ an idiot. He hadn’t suspected anything until he received the wedding invitation, and spent the next three hours ranting at Wesley about it. 

His argument with Erik the next day sealed the deal; a solely platonic friend probably didn’t accuse anyone of treason for wanting to settle down with someone they loved. They definitely didn’t call said someone a gormless harridan. They certainly didn’t pull their friends in by neckties and shove their tongues down said friend’s throats. 

Their hearts definitely didn’t break when their friends pushed them aside, with a brusque “we can’t” and “you should leave.”

He couldn’t argue – Erik was engaged, about to get married. Emma Frost was an intelligent, lovely, terrifying woman. He shouldn’t be doing this. But Erik had kissed him back, and Charles had to _try_. As long as there was hope, he would try. 

Butterflies rose in his stomach as he slowed to a stop in front of his destination. Just as he took his first step to cross the street, the doors opened. People flooded outside. 

Charles stood across the street from the Church where his best friend was getting married – had _gotten_ married, rather – out of breath and tasting ash. He stared at the happy couple, numb, as better friends and guests applauded and pressed in with congratulations and well wishes. Around him passers-by went about their lives as usual with no thoughts to the man whose world was ending. 

Erik glanced up, did a double take when he saw Charles across the way, and lord it must have been obvious that he was held together by the weakest thread of willpower because shock and pity covered that well-loved face, just for a moment, but it was enough. He had been too late. His desperate mad-dash to see Erik, to talk to him, beg him to reconsider – it failed before it ever began. 

Charles turned on his heel. He had a long walk back to the train station, and a longer ride home. Every step jarred his wounded heart, but that was okay, all things considered. He didn’t really need it anymore. 

*****  


“I’ll kill him if you want. It might make you feel better.” Wesley’s tinny voice crackled from Charles’s phone precariously balanced on a pile of unopened mail on his end table. 

“No,” Charles muttered into the stale couch cushion without raising his head or breaking eye contact with the infomercials on the television. “I’d just feel worse. ‘Sides, he’s happy. I wanted him to be happy.”

“With _you_ , dumbass.”

Charles shrugged, for a certain, meager value of shrugging. It was hard to shrug when he lay on his couch clutching a pillow. “Yeah. But in general too. I’d rather he be happy. Like the little mermaid. Only, you know, no killing myself. Or sea foam.”

He heard Wesley sigh in exasperation. “Hey, I get it. I know you think nothing compares to your big gay love with Erik, but I really get it. After Fox….” Wesley trailed off, voice breaking. “Just don’t do anything stupid. I can’t lose you too.” 

“I’m not okay right now, Wes,” he muttered. “But I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Yeah, well. You haven’t changed your pants in the last week, so I should hope not. Listen. I gotta take care of some fate, but I’m coming over after. I’m taking you outside. I’ll bring a leash if I have to.”

“Sure.”

“No, see, get pumped. Yes, motherfucker. We’re doin’ _this_. I’ll be over in an hour. And for the love of god, change your pants.” Wesley didn’t wait for Charles to answer, or argue, before he disconnected. It was nice, he supposed, that some things would never change. 

Loud knocking at his cut through his apartment and drowned out Vince Offer. 

“You have a key, Wes,” he bellowed over the couch arm. He didn’t even have a moment to settle himself back in the pity indent his body had made in the couch before the pounding started again, more agitated. Charles briefly considered letting Wesley wait, but he had seen what his brother could do with some peanut butter and a rat. 

He almost tripped over his coffee table in the rush to answer the door.

“I thought you said an hour,” he called roughly. “I still have a good 49 minutes.” He pulled open the door, ready to start swearing, but froze up when he saw – _Erik._

“Charles, I made a mistake.” Erik’s face was closed off, his voice rough. His hair had, frankly, seen better days. But he was beautiful. 

“Oh?” Charles responded, hoping it was an appropriate answer because what the fuck was Erik Lehnsherr doing here now?

“You look like hell. Can I come in?” Despite the insult, Erik’s façade broke, just a little, and Charles realized he was _nervous_.

“Of course. Erm. It’s not really the cleanest it could be.” He tried to discretely shove the last week’s papers into the hall closet with one foot as Erik crossed the threshold. “Do you want coffee? Tea?” 

“No. No, I just needed to talk to you.” Charles led Erik down the hall into his little used parlor. It had, by far, the fewest haphazardly discarded pizza boxes and stained shirts. 

“So,” he started, voice wavering. God, he was shit at this. Erik’s brow creased, and Charles was nearly overcome by the urge to kiss the distress away before remembering that, no, that was the cause of all this in the first place. “How is married life? I am sorry, by the way. I should. I should have been there, for you. And I shouldn’t have, you know," he waived a hand ambiguously in a manner he hoped conveyed 'sticking my tongue down your throat and nearly crashing your wedding'. "I’m sorry.”

“You were an asshole.” It was a blow, and he closed his eyes hoping it would help him shoulder the weight. But it was nothing less than he deserved. “You should have said something sooner, and frankly your confessions of love could use work. Charles, I’m not married. It didn’t work. Obviously. I saw you, across the street, and. I couldn’t lose you.” 

Charles gaped at him in a manner he quite knew was unattractive. “But, but I saw you. And you love her, I know you do.” 

Erik looked uncomfortable. “I. It wasn’t fair, to you or her. Emma was pretty willing to give me a divorce, after I told her everything. As for the rest, maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought. Maybe I didn’t, either. It’s you, Charles,” Erik confessed. His eyes shone, luminescent, and Charles suppressed a swoon. It’s always only _been_ you.”

Charles couldn't stop himself, then, from knocking Erik to the floor in a fit of over-enthusiastic hugging. When Wesley found them, 35 minutes later, they were still wrapped around each other, arms soothing and stroking away the pain of separation. They barely noticed when Wesley started swearing loudly at Erik, or when he sprayed them with water.

It was, however, difficult to ignore him when he set Charles's pants on fire. Especially with Charles still wearing them at the time.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wish I had the time to add more Emma, because I imagine her as a kickass lady, and I am annoyed with myself for not making more of her. Rest assured, she is doing fine. She started, oh, a tropical fish emporium, and meets an up and coming FBI agent named Moira, and the two of them travel the world, solving crimes and laughing heartily (and sometimes committing crimes, but only on special occasions).


End file.
